


Beach Bums

by SydneyMo



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Day At The Beach, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Slow Burn, Trust, pun intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 04:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14992883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyMo/pseuds/SydneyMo
Summary: Not all beaches are created equal. But when you have the right shoreline, the right scenery, the right conditions...that's when a beach becomes something truly magical.





	Beach Bums

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Witchy1ness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy1ness/gifts).



> Happy Summer Solstice, Witchy1ness! I hope your summer is filled with rest and relaxation!
> 
> A big, BIG thank you to Diadema for beta-ing this for me, AND for organizing this wonderful exchange!

"And, chaps? Do try to have fun." Those had been Waverly's parting words as he sent his top UNCLE agents, bags in hand, to Grace Bay, Turks and Caicos Islands.

They left London with Waverly practically shooing them over the border with instructions not to come back until they were tanned, rested, and relaxed. Illya ignored Solo's jabs about proper Soviet swimwear but did find himself relaxing at the look of excitement on Gaby's face as they mounted the stairs to the plane.

"Not all beaches are created equal," Solo lectured, waving his hands dramatically from the window seat once they sat down. "But when you have the right shoreline, the right scenery, the right  _conditions..._ " he winked at Gaby who laughed appreciatively. " _That's_ when a beach becomes something truly magical."

Illya couldn't hold back a scoff of contempt.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Peril?"

"There is nothing magical about sand and salt water," he reasoned, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Despite his place along the aisle, most airline seats were not made to accommodate a man of his stature, and so his legs were tucked painfully between the end of his own chair and the back of the one in front of him.

"I think it will be fun," Gaby mused, flipping through the gossip magazine Solo had bought for her.

“You ever been to the beach before, Gabs?”

Gaby stiffened, still staring at her magazine as she flipped another page. “Once. It wasn’t the ocean though. It was the river Wannsee.” Solo blinked, not understanding the connotations of her visit.

“The Wannsee conference,” Gaby said quietly, her eyes still fixed on the glossy pictures in front of her, though her mind was a million miles away. “My father was invited to participate to ensure his cooperation in the Final Solution.”

“Ah,” Solo understood his mistake, ignoring the glare he received from Illya and quickly cleared his throat, attempting to find something else to talk about.

“It’s fine,” Gaby reassured him, patting him gently on the knee before returning to her gazette, skimming over the fashion section. “Did you see what Jackie Kennedy wore In Austria? She looks fabulous, doesn’t she?”

******** 

The rest of the flight passed fairly quickly for a 12-hour trip. When the trio arrived, Gaby was the first off the plane, stepping over Illya to reach the door and practically vibrating with excitement.

Upon reaching the Villa Renaissance where Waverly had graciously booked a suite complete with three, stylish bedrooms, a fully-stocked bar, and direct access to the pristine beach before them, Solo couldn’t help mumbling to Illya that the wattage in Gaby’s  smile would have blinded lesser men.

“So, I’m guessing our first stop is to the beach?” Napoleon sat his bag down next to the door of the first bedroom, eyeing his partners with a grin . The German, ever balletic, was hopping from foot to foot in barely-contained enthusiasm, while the Russian stood nearby, awkwardly turning his flat cap between his hands.

“I think this would be best,” Illya allowed, noting the elation that was rolling off Gaby in waves.

“I’ll go get my swimming trunks.”

                                                         ******** 

After gathering the necessities and finding the perfect spot away from other tourists but close enough to a group of vacationing young women for Solo to ogle, Illya sat under the large beach umbrella Cowboy had procured, allowing himself to idly unwind. Gaby had made a beeline for the water and was currently paddling about and laughing, occasionally rising out of the ocean long enough to  wave at her partners before disappearing beneath the bright blue tide. Solo sat just outside the umbrella’s shade, supposedly bathing in the sunlight though Illya could see his eyes following each scantily-clad figure that walked by. He was in his element, already beginning to fulfill Waverly’s requests of coming back tanned and rested.

“You’re just going to sit there?” Solo asked  after a moment , lowering his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose to glance at the pale Russian who continued to cool himself in the sand and shade while watching Gaby’s oceanic antics.

“I am acting as lifeguard,” Illya said, brushing a small hermit crab away from his toes.

“You know there are people for that.”

Illya scoffed. “University students on vacation, more interested in how they look than lives of others.”

Solo shrugged, pushing his sunglasses up once again and leaning back on his forearms to bask in the warm, summer afternoon. “Suit yourself.”

After another few minutes , Gaby sauntered up the beach, dripping and breathless but grinning ear to ear, oblivious to the piece of seaweed that was tangled in her hair. Solo began to laugh.

“Having fun there, Gabs?” She nodded happily, nudging his torso with her foot to scooch him over, before collapsing on the small beach towel next to him and sighing contentedly.

“I wish we could stay here forever.”

Illya reached over, plucking the green intruder from her hair and attempting to hide a smile. “You will say this until you have sand rash and sunburn and stomach-ache from too much ice cream.”

Gaby sat up at that. “There’s ice cream?” 

Solo grinned. “You set yourself up for that one, Peril.” He looked at Gaby, then reached into their beach bag to pull out his wallet. “Here, you two go get yourselves something sweet.”

Before Illya could protest, nor procure his own wallet, Gaby had  grinningly snatched the money from Solo’s hands and was scrambling to her feet to find the nearest food cart. Illya repressed a sigh, heaving himself to his feet and brushing the sand from his trunks.

“Did you want anything?” Gaby thought to ask, hesitating for a moment to look at Solo. He smirked, unabashedly eyeing a bikini-clad woman who was smiling at him.

“Thanks, but I’ve got my own sweet treat in mind.”

Gaby shrugged and grabbed Illya’s hand, dragging him behind her. “Come on!”

********

Twenty minutes later, Illya and Gaby returned to their beach towels with Solo nowhere to be seen. Neither, in fact, was the woman they had spotted earlier.

“I guess Cowboy found some entertainment.” Illya mused, seating himself back down underneath the shade of the umbrella and taking a long swig of the water bottle he had purchased. Gaby sat down next to him, idly licking the melting vanilla ice cream from the sides of her waffle cone.

“Does that surprise you?”

He chuckled, trying not to laugh at her frown as some of Gaby’s ice cream melted into the sand.

“No.” he admitted. “It does not.”

They sat in silence, listening to the waves crash along the shore and the sound of children’s laughter drifting across the sand dunes. Gaby finished her ice cream and rinsed her hands with a splash of Illya’s water. He grunted in disapproval.

“There is sea water for that.”

“Yes,” Gaby allowed, wiping her hands clean on the beach towel and laying down beside him. He glanced at her from his propped position, arms relaxed and leaning against his bent knees. “But then I’d have to get up, and I’d much rather sit here with you.” 

Illya huffed again, suppressing a smile, but said nothing, allowing her sentence to hang there.

Gaby ran a finger along Illya’s side and up his spine, her brow furrowing underneath her sunglasses. “What happened here?” Her nails leisurely traced the length of a jagged scar that looked much older than his others. She had seen Illya without his shirt on before but had never had the opportunity to view him up close.

Illya stiffened and pulled away. “Is nothing.” Gaby frowned, leaning up on her forearms and pushing her sunglasses up on her head.

“It doesn’t look like nothing. Did this happen in the KGB or…?” 

He sighed, suppressing the memories that attempted to come flooding back. “My mother,” he began haltingly. Gaby said nothing, allowing him to take his time, knowing how rare it was for him to share something so intimate.

“My father’s friends visited after he was sent away. I was young, arrogant. I thought I could defend her.”

“A man did this to you? When you were a child?” 

He nodded, staring out into the sea to avoid the look of sympathy he knew was on her face. “It was belt buckle. Others have faded over time. This,” he shrugged again. “Broke skin deep enough to stay.”

Gaby didn’t say anything for a long while. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she sat up and pulled the elastic of her high-waisted swim bottoms down to her hip.

“I was thirteen,” she started, pointing to a small scar near her waist. “My foster father wanted me to learn how to fix cars; I took an instant liking to them. His brother liked to stay in the shop, help him work. He had a knack for getting the parts we needed at a low price.” Gaby scoffed aloud, allowing the waistband to snap back into place. “One day my foster father had a client he needed to see; he left my uncle in charge of the garage and asked him to help me with my first car. At first, I thought he was just being nice; he would point out all the parts that my father hadn’t gotten around to showing me.” She paused then, taking a deep breath and wrapping her arms around her knees.

“He tried to touch me,” she said, her voice wavering but intrepid. “I fought back. I even hit him over the head with my wrench. That’s when he pulled out the knife to cut away my coveralls.” 

She paused, turning her head to look at Illya who was viewing her with a look that was somewhere between horror at her situation and anger that it had happened to begin with.

“My father came back after that, stopping him in his tracks and throwing him out of the garage. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t. We never saw his brother again.” 

She reached out a hand to touch Illya’s arm which was still perched on his knee. “I know that it’s hard to share things like that,” she began, looking down at her wrist to avoid his eyes. “But I want you to know that I’m glad you did.” 

They didn’t speak for a moment, Illya turning his arm to grasp her hand in his own, thumb brushing reassuring circles along her knuckles.

“Thank you,” he began, clearing his throat. “For trusting me.”

Gaby looked up, a small smile turning the corners of her mouth. “I’ve always trusted you.”

She leaned towards him slowly, eyes moving to glance back and forth between his, allowing him time to move away if he wanted to. He didn’t, instead bowing his head, his lips mere centimeters from her own. Her eyes fluttered closed as his did the same.

“How was the ice cream?”

They jumped apart as a familiar American accent interrupted their moment. Solo was walking towards them, towel in hand and ruffling his dripping hair. Gaby scowled at him, causing the man to stop in his tracks.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, swiveling his head between the two and watching in bewildered amusement as Gaby angrily stood and stomped away from the two towards the ocean, leaving a cloud of sand in her wake.

“Your timing is impeccable as always, Cowboy.” Illya sighed wearily, used to Solo’s accidental yet no less irritating interruptions.

The rest of the day passed by without much drama. Napoleon contented himself with people watching and flipping through Gaby’s collection of magazines she had brought down from the hotel. Illya ventured out into the sunlight, even taking a dip in the warm ocean water to swim out after Gaby’s sandal which had inadvertently been swept out as the tide came in. The aforementioned German, after retrieving her shoe and giving the Russian agent a grateful smile, spent the rest of her day lying in the sand and soaking up as much vitamin D as she could, ignoring Illya’s warnings of sunscreen and the unpleasantries of burns.

                                                        ********

The sun was beginning to set when a yawning Solo, dropped the magazine he had been reading into Gaby’s bag and stood to stretch his arms over his head.

“It’s getting late. Did you want to order room service? Loath as I am to admit it, I can’t bring myself to venture to a restaurant for dinner tonight.” Illya nodded absently, glancing up at his partner before returning his gaze to Gaby who was fast asleep, her hair splayed out in the sand around her head like a halo.

“Looks like Gabs is out for the count,” Solo chuckled. He picked up the towel and shook it off before packing it away. “Should I wake her up?”

“No,” Illya said quietly, standing. “Let her sleep. She needs it.” He reached down to snake one arm under her shoulders, the other in the crook of her knees and stood up straight, cradling the sleeping mechanic against his chest.

Solo grinned but chose to save his teasing for later, turning to  fold up the umbrella and start towards their hotel. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that Illya was following behind, taking his steps slowly and carefully so as not to wake their partner. He couldn’t help but notice the way Illya was gazing at Gaby, his eyes soft and devout. If he didn’t know any better, Solo could have sworn he heard the Russian giant mumbling sweet nothings in his native tongue.

He grinned again, picking up his pace to allow the two a small amount of privacy. Who knew that the feared Red Peril, the KGB’s best and youngest man to join, could be reduced to a lovesick puppy by the mere presence of one Gabriella Teller?

When the trio reached the hotel, Solo graciously held the glass door open. Illya slipped inside, walking through the living room and nudged the far bedroom door open with his foot to deposit Gaby safely on her king-sized bed.

Solo was unpacking their day bag when he heard Illya shuffle into the living room behind him.

“I am going to take shower. You can order what you like.”

“Did you want anything in particular?” Solo asked, not looking up from the coffee table where he set the magazines down.

“No,” Illya said slowly. “Just nothing extravagant.”

“No caviar, then?”

“No caviar.”

Solo was about to make a snide remark about Western indulgences before he straightened up. All words failed him as his jaw dropped, his eyes widening as he took in the Russian’s appearance in the bright lighting of their hotel.

“What?” Illya asked suspiciously, glancing around him as if expecting to see something out of place.

“Nothing.” Solo hid a grin and moved to the telephone in the far corner of the room. “It’s just, I never expected you to take your nickname so literally.”

“What are you talking about?”

Solo picked up the receiver and began to dial the number for room service, pointing to the decorative mirror on the wall behind Illya. “See for yourself.”

Brows furrowed, Illya turned to glance at his reflection and had to do a double take before realizing what it was that Cowboy found so amusing.

In all his insistences that Gaby apply liberal amounts of sunscreen and not spend so much time out from underneath the umbrella, he had completely disregarded his own skin which was now a shining, bright red in color.

“I’ll order up some milk while I’m at it, shall I?” 

Illya could only nod, still staring at his burned and, he only now realized, painful, skin.

Solo chuckled, feeling a little sorry for the burned Russian, but he couldn’t help shaking his head at the irony.

“Red Peril, indeed.” 

He couldn’t wait to see Gaby’s reaction.

**Author's Note:**

> A Few Research Notes:
> 
> Soviet Swimwear! When I found this picture online, I KNEW Solo would take every opportunity to tease Illya, hence his jabs that were referenced at the beginning. http://allthatsinteresting.com/soviet-youth#3
> 
> Gaby mentions Jackie Kennedy's outfit while she was in Austria with her husband. This trip was actually in 1961, but it was there that she met Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev who said that he'd "Like to shake her hand first," when asked to shake the President's hand for a photo. He was so taken with her that he later sent her a puppy who was the offspring of Stelka, the dog that went into space during a Soviet space mission. It was so cute, I couldn't resist! Time magazine was even so delighted with the First Lady that they wrote an entire article on her, only mentioning the President once by saying, "There was also that fellow who came with her." 
> 
> The Wannsee Conference was a meeting to ensure the cooperation of administrative leaders in the Final Solution. It was held at the Villa am Grossen Wannsee (now a memorial) in 1942. Since Gaby's biological father wasn't separated from his family until 1945, I'm taking creative liberty and assuming that he brought his daughter along with he attended the conference. Gaby would have been only 4-years old at the time. 
> 
> Despite what felt like 100 years searching up remedies for sunburn (or any burns, really) in the 1960s, I could find no information on any drugstore concoctions or natural substances that would have been used. I decided to go with milk since soaking sunburnt skin in a milk bath is a common home remedy and I can only assume has been around for quite some time. 
> 
> Going off of that, let's talk about sunscreen! The earliest produced was actually for the US military in 1944, but it wasn't commercialized until 1946. One can only guess how effective said sunscreen was. The product was called "Gletscher Creme" and the company that made it, Piz Buin, is still around today and still makes (hopefully better) sunscreen.


End file.
